


Shot to the Heart

by Shewolf_of_highgarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassin Arya, Badass Arya, Cousin Incest, F/M, First Love, I hope, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Past Relationship(s), Romantic Comedy, Weddings, bodyguard jon, not graphic, some violence, spy cliches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewolf_of_highgarden/pseuds/Shewolf_of_highgarden
Summary: He broke her heart when she was seventeen and now he had the nerve to ruin her mission. If Jon thought she wold back down just like that he must not have remembered her very well because Arya always got her kill.





	1. Opening Credits

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I hope you guys enjoy this story and thanks for reading!  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated.

**Kings Landing 8:30 AM**

Kings Landing was probably the worst place in the world. The city smelled of trash and car fumes. The people were garish and rude. The heat was enough to make someone want to dive into the Blackwater Bay, even if there was a high chance they would be swept off to sea. Personally Arya would rather drown than keep melting in this stupid city with its stupid heat and lack of actual good coffee.

She grimaced as she took another swig of the latte that was in front of her. It was too sweet. Bran liked to call her a coffee snob, but she would not be ashamed of being someone with actual taste. Besides if she suddenly took a liking to Westerosi coffee again as soon as she was back in Essos they would start making jokes at her expense. She had finally convinced people that she was not an uncultured Westerosi and she was not going to let her reputation of being as Bravoosi as Bravoosi can get without actually being born there be obliterated.

“Arya, that bag. That’s the bag is what I want for my name day.” A chipper voice suddenly kicked Arya out of her very important coffee musings.

Setting down her cup Arya took her phone out of the crook of her shoulder and held it to her ear.

“Which one? There’s like a million bags around, it’s a big city.”

“The one the woman who just sat down on your left is carrying. It’s the newest one from the Thorny Rose collection. Say what you will about Margaery Tyrell, but she makes some fantastic pieces.” Lanna gushed over the earpiece.

Arya wanted to groan. Of course the girl would want that bag. It would be easy enough to get, but if Marg found out that Arya actually bought the bag without coming to her then she would never hear the end of it. Margaery Tyrell had been all too serious when she told Arya that since she was dating Sansa, Arya should consider her a sister. Now that Margaery had launched into the fashion world Arya was forever getting (and trying to refuse) clothing from her soon-to-be sister in law.

“It’s nice enough, I guess. I thought you wanted the shear top from the Merling Queen’s line, though.”

“Oh, I do, but I saw that bag and I am in love. The red is amazing and when you open it the inside looks like an actual rose.”

“Uh-huh, but don’t you already have a ton of purses. Why not get a new dress or something?”

“Arya, I have told you this a million and one times. I am a purse girl, they are my life.”

Arya was half tempted to quip that she should get a fuller life, but that seemed a bit harsh. Maybe she should just ask Marg for the bag…or one at a discounted price. Putting down her pride and allowing her sister to squeal about how Arya finally asking her for help (and how Arya would totally owe her) was worth it if it made Lanna happy. The girl was a good friend, she deserved a good present.

“As much as I hate to interrupt girl time,’ a terse voice hissed over the ear piece, ‘would the two of you mind doing your jobs?”

Trust the Waif to be a kill-joy. The woman was not mean per-se, but she was the no-nonsense sort. Even when they were stuck waiting for hours on end for a target to show up, the Waif was quick to stop them from talking about anything other than what they needed to do. Arya understood this, the job was important but the in between times could be pretty boring.

At least she was actually out in the field for this mission, instead of being stuck in some room watching for the target and giving the signal. That job was always so tedious and for people who had patience, so it was not Arya’s favorite chore. She preferred when she was the boots on the ground, when she watched on the streets and got the feel for the place. It was better than being stuck in some room for what seemed like an eternity. They had been waiting for a Frey that Arya could not remember the name of (Walder? Waldo? Walnardo?) for at least two hours.

Over the moon they had watched him for Waldo had come to this café every Tuesday. He came at seven am and ordered a black coffee with at least three muffins. Arya and her team had been staking out the café since four am this morning and there was no Waldman. He was running late, or maybe he was skipping today. Arya really hoped that was not the case. She needed to be on a plane tonight on her way to the North. If she missed her sister’s engagement party not even Father would be able to save her from Mother’s wrath…or Sansa’s.

Leave it to a Frey to make her life even harder.

She could probably just call up Olenna Tyrell and ask her to kill Waldis. The old woman would put a hit if that meant Arya would be there for the engagement party. She wanted her grand-daughter to be happy and that meant Sansa had to be happy which meant Arya had to be at the Gods-forsaken party.

“It’s not as though we can actually do anything. How do you kill a man who is not here?” Arya snapped before remembering she was out in the open. She gave a sheepish smile to the woman who glanced at her and mouthed that she loved the woman’s bag. The woman gave a tight smile back and went back to her book.

“Why don’t you say that louder, Lady Stark? I don’t think the people in Dorne heard you.” The Waif growled into her ear.

This time Arya had no retort.

“What do you think of the bag?” Lanna asked the waif, clearly not grasping that older woman was on the verge of saying the many-faced god would have to find some new servants and killing both of them. Unlike Arya, and she guessed Lanna but was not actually sure, the Waif did worship at the altar of the many-faced god. Arya tried it for a while when she was first recruited to the Black and White, but she could not leave the old gods behind. It wasn’t like the belief was mandatory, you just had to go through the motions and you were fine.

Waif, however, took this seriously. When the kindly man had told them that they were to carry out the hit on Waldy Waif saw it as an order from her god. Arya, for her part, saw it as a way to show that she was ready to be head of her own unit. As an added bonus she would have an easier time getting home from Kings Landing than from Bravoos, so win-win in Arya’s mind. That, of course, really depended on if this stupid man would ever show up. 

“It’s too garish. Now stop shopping and pay attention.” Waif said, sounding a mix of exasperation and annoyance. Actually at this moment the Waif sounded a lot like Catelyn Stark.

Arya looked down at her watch, only five minutes had passed. If it went on like this much longer Arya was going to lose it. She scanned the crowd again and came up empty (again) before looking down at the magazine in front of her. Arya was not really one for magazines, but she needed a prop or two to look inconspicuous. It was decided that the phone and the magazine were the best bets. The phone would allow her to communicate with the others without being obvious and the magazine would make her fit in a bit more.

This particular magazine was about homes and gardens. She thought her mother might have a subscription to it. On the front stood Cersie Lannister smiling as she opened the front door to the Red Keep, “Queen Cersie invites you into her home in this special edition!” was splashed across the top, as if seeing these pictures were a big deal. It was actually a bit odd looking at a smiling Cersie, she played kind so well. Then you got to know her and she was usually more like to scowl or smirk at you than to smile. Growing up Arya was usually met with glares and smirks. Arya wondered how many photographers the queen made cry during this photoshoot. She could see the blond woman now shouting about lighting and photographers who were incompetent and trying to make her look bad. Did they not know who her father was? Who _she_ , herself, was? Arya shuddered just thinking about it.

“I like the purse, Lanna.” Another, quieter, voice piped up. This time it was Weasel. She was young, only sixteen, and this was her first actual mission. She had been one of Varys little birds during her youth and had only joined the House of Black and White a few moons ago. Arya ended up taking the girl under her wing. She was smart and observant, though she was easily startled and not much of a leader-type.

Waif let out a frustrated groan.

Right when Arya was about to say they should change location Waldyn came into view. Arya may not be able to remember his name, but she certainly remembered how he looked. He was a short man, like most of the Freys Arya had known, middle aged, with hair graying at his temples. He was beefy looking with beady eyes that had a mean look about them. He was the type of man that was likely to push his way to the front of the line rather than wait his turn. Granted that was probably because he had to fight for what little he had, it was well known that there were way too many Freys. If Lord Walder wanted to he would be able to raise a decent army made of his own blood.

Arya lifted up her magazine, opening to some random page that showed Cersie pretending to work in a garden (she would have to remember to keep that one; it was not every day you say Cersie Lannister on her knees in the dirt), and watched the man from over it. He took a seat at the very last outside table on the left, a lady who took her love for red way too far blocked him from her view.

“Can you see me?” Arya asked, standing up and pretending to look for a friend or lover who was supposed to come meet her.

“Target located. He’s looking at the menu now.” Waif said.

“I can’t see you. Maybe you went to the wrong one.” Arya said as she sat back down.

She took picked up the satchel bag that was hanging off the back of the chair and started rifling through it. There were only three things in the bag (sedatives, a gun, and a bracelet she had bought for her Mother she bought the other night), but Arya was nothing if not a dedicated actress, so she committed to her role as someone who would carry a million things and pretended to rummage. Finally she pulled out a box for allergy medication. In actuality it was a fast acting sedative that would make their target more prone to suggestion and disoriented.

She opened the box and took out the foil backed pill container before popping one of the pills on to her palm and putting the box back into her bag. She thought for a moment before taking the bag out again and grabbing a second pill. The man may not be tall, but he was large enough to think that it was a good idea to does him more than usual. Besides even if he became comatose they were going to kill him anyway. Besides she really wanted to make her flight on time and that mean this had to go smoothly. Frey had to be dealt with quickly and quietly.

“The waitress is coming back with the coffee. Lanna is approaching the target.”

“Are you almost here?” Arya asked into the phone, standing and looking around as if searching for someone in the passers-by. She noticed the pretty blond with green eyes catting with the Frey. The man was obviously enjoying the attention he was getting from Lanna. Arya sat down again, flipping through the magazine.

“Almost there.”

Arya got up from her seat and stretched. She picked up her magazine and put it in the satchel, making a show of tidying up her area. She pushed in her chair and took the coffee mug back inside the café, in the guise of being a caring customer.

“Now, Stark.”

Arya left the café and walked casually down the line of tables. People sat and chatted, parying her no mind. These were the times she was no Sansa. Sansa was gorgeous with the Tully looks and blinding smile, while Arya was…well Arya. She was skinny as a Bravoosi sword and with her long face and thick brows not even half as pretty as her sister. She would admit to herself that there had been many times she had worried over how she looked, how she compared to Sansa, but there were also times where not being noticeable helped. Like when you needed to slip a sedative into the coffee cup of a man you needed to kill.

When Arya got closer she locked eyes with Lanna and the other girl gave her a slight nod. The Frey’s coffee cup sat off to the right side of the table while he was focused on where Lanna sat. He was regaling her with a tale about some business trip that she was sure had to be as boring as he was. Lanna, like all of them, was a great actress and was pulling off interested very well.

Arya looked straight ahead when she reached the Frey’s table and didn’t stop. Instead, while he was absorbed with Lanna, Arya dropped the pills in the coffee without being noticed. Acting lessons had really paid off. They had taught her that when she was on stage she needed to know where things were so she kept her attention on the audience or other actors while she went about sitting or lying. She knew where the coffee cup was and knew how far to reach out along with how low to do it, so you could not hear the _plop_ that went with the pills. It also helped that they had practiced this more than once in run through off different scenarios. You did not know what was going to happen, but you could still try to be prepared. The Waif was the queen of being prepared.

Passing the café Arya rounded the corner into an ally way and stopped in the middle where a fire escape was. She reached up, but did not feel that bag that contained her usual clothing. Arya looked around, confused. It was rare someone actually took the clothing, they were too small for most and rarely colorful. Arya spotted the dumpster a little further down the alley and felt dread rise in her.

_Waif would not dare_

Just to be sure, though, Arya walked down to the dumpster and standing on tiptoes looked inside. As she had suspected a little black duffle bag sat inside with the garbage. Arya glared at it, but fished it out anyway. She had worn a nice blouse and a pencil shirt in order to fit in with the business types that hung around this area and was ready to get back to her shorts (the weather was too hot for jeans) and t-shirt.

Ignoring the smell Arya opened the duffle bag and pulled out her shorts. Checking the alley way one last time Arya pulled off the skirt and pulled on her shorts as quickly as possible. She did so again with her top before throwing the duffle bag into the trash and taking the gun and bracelet out of the satchel and throwing it in with the duffle. By the time she had moved some of the trash bags to cover it, she looked over and saw a beat up Sandstead idling outside of the alley.

Arya walked towards it, taking her hair out of the classy chignon that Lanna had done for her and putting it up into a pony-tail.

Weasel sat in the front seat of the car and smiled at Arya when she got in. “Waif and Lanna are taking care of Frey. You did really good today, Arya.”

“They always have all of the fun,’ Arya said dryly, before smiling at the younger girl as they pulled into traffic, ‘and it wasn’t a hard one this time.”

“Yea, but you are always so cool and calm. I get nervous when I have to go near a target.”

“You’ll get used it. It just takes some practice.”

Weasel made a noncommittal noise, “So where to now?”

“Back to headquarters. I have a party to get to.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Winter Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, there is a lot going on lately! I hope to update more frequently now.

Winter Town, Westeros 11:30 P.M.

 

“C’mon Harwin, have a heart. I am starving!” Arya begged from the backseat of the town car. She had only had snacks at the airport and to make life even better her flight had been delayed. She should have landed in Winter Town at 3:30 p.m. and yet here she was four hours late.

 

“Lady Catelyn said she wanted you straight home and anyway nothing is even open at this hour.” Harwin said, his tone sounding suspiciously similar to the one he used when she was teenager and begging him to drop her off at a friend’s house or the mall after school.

 

Arya leaned forward between the two front seats to better look at the driver. “Hot Pie’s will be open and I can deal with mother.”

 

After a moment or two Harwin sighed, and Arya knew she won.

 

“Hey! How come she gets to get Hot Pies? When I asked to stop by Mikken’s on the way to the airport you said no.” Rickon whined from the front seat.

 

“Shut up, stupid.” Arya growled, kicking the back of his seat. Why Rickon had to come along she did not understand. She loved her baby brother, she really did. He had the same wolf-blood as she did, perhaps a bit more and they had spent many a day bemoaning the hardships of living in such a civilized society. Still Rickon was a little shit. He liked to cause trouble and loved nothing more than to push her buttons.

 

On top of that he had the nerve to have what she had dubbed the Tully Growth Spirt two years ago, and she would swear h he grew a few more inches. Each of her siblings had a growth spurt around the age of fifteen. Except her, of course. She had begged the Gods, stretched, and done everything she could. She had tried to convince herself it would only happen to Robb and Sansa. Then fifteen year old Bran, who had been about her height, grew a good six or seven inches. She lost all hope when Rickon had his. It might have been bearable if Rickon did not take such pleasure in being almost a head taller than her. He had made a big show of being too big for the back seat and forcing her to take the back. The least he could let her do was have her food in peace.

 

“What’s so important that mother needs me home immediately, anyway?” Though immediately probably was not the right word. From Winter Town it would take them at least an hour to reach New Winterfell, and with the way Harwin drove at night it would probably be an hour and a half.

“She has a dress for you to try on. She said it needed to make sure it fit tonight, I stopped listening after that.” Rickon said helpful as always, eyes glued to his phone.

 

Arya grimaced. She had heard an earful about her outfit from her mother for months now. Arya had been going to wear one of the dresses she already owned only to be told none of them were acceptable. Last time she was home Mother, Sansa, and she had gone to look at dresses only for it to end with she and Sansa getting into a fight and no one finding a dress. Finally Arya had told her mother just to pick something for her which had been a mistake. According to Robb after Arya gave mother semi-free reign, Mother had told Sansa. Sansa had told Margaery, who agreed to special design dresses for all three Stark women.

 

Margaery was a great designer, even Arya could admit that, but her clothing was not something Arya would choose for herself. Last she had heard the dress was pretty much ready, she just needed to try it on to make sure it fit right. Arya was sure as soon as she got home she would be rushed into a fitting. She almost felt bad for the seamstress who had to wait until close to 1 am to do a fitting. She had a little less sympathy when she thought about what the Tyrells, let alone Catelyn Stark, would pay the woman.

 

None of those women would allow for someone who was part of their family (or going to be) to look anything less than perfect on what was sure to be one of the biggest social events of the year. Arya was sure most of the hotels in Winter Town and White Harbor were going to be entirely booked by people here for the engagement party. The wedding was sure to be even bigger. Arya may hate social events, but she was looking forward to seeing old friends and family. According to Mother the Tully clan was heading up for the party and even Great Grandmother Arya Flint was coming. There was one person Arya had not heard about. . . Jon Snow.

 

Her mother had never been too fond of her cousin. After the death of Lyanna, Ned had adopted Jon, considering he was the only one in his family to have a, albeit new, stable family and there was no way anyone was going to be handing the boy to the Targaryen family. With a second child thrust upon her and her husband forced to spend long spans of time away from the family as he tried to help rebuild a stable government along with moving to a strange new place with only strangers to guide her, resentment had built up in Catelyn. Misplaced as it was, it was clear that whenever she looked at her nephew she was reminded of one of the most difficult times in her life. She was never cruel, but she was cold. Even with the distance between them, Eddard Stark would never allow anyone not to invite Jon to an important family function.

 

For once Arya and Catelyn agreed on Jon. Arya certainly did not want to see him. She had done her best to avoid him since she was seventeen. She saw him maybe one or twice a year and even then she did her utmost to only say hello if she had to and then to find a quick excuse to leave him behind. At twenty-four she should be over what happened seven years ago, but she hadn’t. She still felt the anger and the grief. That was easy to deal with. The issue was when she actually saw him. When she saw those grey eyes that turned almost lavender in the right light and he smiled the smile she had loved the most ever since she could remember. When she saw him old feelings came rushing back, feelings that could easily make her throw away all the anger. She could not do that. She could not allow stupid Jon Snow to make a fool of her again.

 

“Arya!” Rickon yelled, snapping her out of her thoughts, ‘what do you want?” he asked gesturing to the drive-thru menu.

 

“Uh, their fried rabbit strips with a large order of fries and a melon juice. Thanks. ” She said, handing her card up to Harwin. She would never trust Rickon with her credit card.

 

Arya gratefully took her food and dug in. “So, little brother, how is Lyanna these days?”

 

Arya had to bit her lip from outright laughing at the snort Harwin let out at her question. It was a well-known fact that Rickon had been in love with Lyanna Mormont ever since her older sister Lyra Mormont had babysat the younger Stark kids. It had been at least a decade of will they-wont they and half confessions and dates that weren’t dates. All of the older siblings of the Stark and Mormont families had to keep adjusting their bets. Theon Greyjoy seemed to enjoy playing bookie.

 

“She’s fine, I guess.”

 

“You guess? Have you not talked to her in a while?”

 

“She’s busy, we both are. It’s none of your business anyway! How’s your love life?” Rickon snapped. Clearly they were in a wont-they mood. Arya gave it until the party tomorrow for this attitude to last. He would see Lyanna again and they would be all secret glances again.

 

“I’m too busy for a love life. Doing PR for the Black Pearl is not easy, you know.” He cover with the Black Pearl was only half a lie. She really did do PR for the Courtesan when she was not on a mission and trained extensively under the woman. Being around her usually meant that Arya could get close to people high in the social ladder without having to use her real identity. People who thought that being a Courtesan was dead and no longer was an important social position were wrong. With her last name Arya could slip easily into most of the upper class circles, even across the Narrow Sea, but it took working with Bellegere Otherys to learn how to use the family looks as well as the name.

 

“You could do PR for Father. Mother keeps talking to him or Robb to offer you a position. Last time Marg came to dinner she said she wanted to offer you a job with her company. At least you would be close to home.”

 

Arya sighed. This was a subject full of tension in her family. House Stark was a tight knit group and it was jarring to have one of the pack all the way across the narrow sea, so far from home. Still she loved her work, both the spying and the PR. The spying she loved because . . . well . . . she was good at it and she felt like she was doing some good. The people they went after hurt people (usually) or at least were shady enough that Arya could convince herself that they really did need to be taken care of. With PR she loved interacting with people. She liked talking the press, which was a shock, and enjoyed meeting all the people that would come and go. She had made quite a few friends along the way.

 

The rest of the ride was fairly quiet. Rickon was glued to the football match between King’s Landing and the Wildings, one of the three teams from the North. Arya was not too surprised. Rickon came in part because he missed and also he wanted to get out of the house. Rickon, ever like her, got restless easily and when mother got into event planning mode made people need a break. Rickon had rode along for a lack of somewhere else to go. Arya did not hold it against him, it was something she would do. Plus there was something comforting about a quiet car ride late at night through the old northern roads.

 

Arya lifted her legs up to the seat and rested her head against the window, closing her eyes. She had many memories of riding home from some event or another, tucked into the back seat of one of the SUVs with Bran and Rickon. She had even more memories of riding these roads with Jon. Once he got his license Arya took full advantage of it. For the most part he took her wherever she wanted. The most meaningful drives, though, where the ones they took at dusk. Some nights her wolf blood came too close to the surface, and on those nights Jon would take her on a drivee through the twisty roads up to the old castle. He always knew how to help. As a child, and as a teenager, she had run to him for everything and anything. He was her best friend, her protector, her biggest confidant. And then everything changed.

 

Arya pushed that thought to the side. Instead she focused on the coolness of the glass and the sounds of Rickon muttering about the score and coaching through the phone. At some point she fell asleep.

 

She slept until the car came to a stop, light sleeper that she was. Stretching, she made sure to get one last good kick into the back of Rickon’s seat, making him turn and glare at her. She grinned in return. She loved her brother, and she loved pushing his buttons almost as much. As the middle child Arya had to deal with holier-than-thou older siblings as well as annoying little brothers. Seeing as she could not always get away with goading Sansa or Robb, she used Rickon. At a year and half difference Bran was more of a partner in crime and so she went easier on him than on Rickon. Besides Bran usually did not make her want to seek revenge.

 

Arya followed Rickon and Harwin up to the mostly dark house, noting that the light in her father’s study was on. She would definitely try to go see him before Mother got her and she would have to deal with little details for the party that had to be dealt with tonight. It had been too long since she had been able to spend time with her father and even if it was just a few minutes she would cherish it.

 

Rickon, as if sensing her thoughts, broke into a jog. Arya knew exactly what his plan was. He would burst into the house yelling at the top of his lungs that they were back and come look who was finally home. That simply would not do. Arya burst into a run, determined to beat him. She caught up easily to him, but he shoved his arm out in order to shove her back. Rickon might have been bigger, and probably stronger, but Arya was quicker and trained to take people of any size down. She ran up close behind him and as soon as they reached the steps that lead to the porch she kicked him in the heel of the foot raised to step on the first step. The kick was enough to send him off balance, making him land on his knee. Arya had to dodge the hand that came at her ankle trying to take her down and fumbled with the key to open the front door. She did not stop running until she reached her father’s study - behind her she could hear Rickon start to yell - and entered after a quick knock.

 

Father looked up from his desk, clearly startled. As she caught her breath, a smile came over her face at her own accord. Father looked the same. His hair might have been a bit more salt and pepper, but the eyes were still his as was the smile that lightened his usually somber face when he realized who stormed into his study.

 

“Arya.” He said standing up and walking around his desk.

 

Arya quickly met him half way and threw her arms around him. He put his arms around her and squeezed, lifting her off the ground making her laugh, demanding to be put down.

 

“I missed you, Father.” She said letting him go and stepping back.

 

“I missed you too, sweet girl, it’s been too long.” He said, handing coming to cup her cheek. “How was the flight?”

 

Arya groaned, “Long, but decent once I was actually able to get on the plane.”

 

“Ah, yes, your mother told me all about your delay. Last I heard if you were delayed by another hour she was going to have you air lifted out.”

Arya laughed at that, it sounded like something her mother would do. She had opened her mouth to ask about how he was enjoying housing the Tyrells when the door opened. Arya turned to see Catelyn Stark standing there somehow looking elated and disapproving all at once. Truly her mother had a talent for mixing emotions. Arya smiled at her, “Mother, I’m home.”

 

“It’s about time.” Catelyn chided taking her daughter into her arms. Arya got the impression her mother did not just mean she was late. Arya did have to admit she should have come home a bit sooner.

 

Catelyn leaned back, keeping her hands on Arya’s shoulders, studying her. Arya hadn’t changed much, her hair was a bit longer, and her muscle was a bit leaner, but that was it. Mother, to her relief, had not changed much either. Her hair was still a dark copper and her eyes the color of the clear Riverland skies in the summer.

 

“Well since you’re here, we have a few things to get done and then you need to go to bed. We have a million things to do tomorrow.” Her mother said steering her out of the study. Arya threw a smile at her father over the shoulder and got one in return. As much as she dreaded the next day it was good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are very appreciated! (Also fried rabbit is a thing, i checked)


End file.
